I remember the hard wooden desk.
My small self had to stay planted,
While sheet after sheet of purple ink
Passed through my fumbling fingers.
Fat pencils with no erasers,
Gripped tightly, left smudges
On the paper that held my mistakes.
At least the desk had writing carved in,
And I could wonder about the names.
Susan and Danny 4ever,
I love Robert,
I saw them when I read their names,
It was far more interesting than the papers.
Susan was small and dark,
Danny had red hair.
He thought she smelled nice.
They passed notes from this very desk, and -
What? No, ma'am, I'm not finished yet.